


Hoodie Season

by megaotaku98



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Growing Old Together, M/M, MinChan rise bitch, a tiny drop of angst in one part, healthy relationship, lots of imagery, my softest work yet, sooo much fluff, this is poetic as fuck ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 20:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16248869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megaotaku98/pseuds/megaotaku98
Summary: "Baby, how do I look?"





	Hoodie Season

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello again!! I have returned once more with more tooth rotting fluff! This is very clearly based off the song Hoodie Season, which is one of my favorite 3RACHA songs! This fic is different from my usual style of writing, I used present tense and 3rd person omniscient instead of my usual past tense with 3rd person limited. Think of it like the narrator is kind of a outsider looking in on MinChan's relationship.  
> I used a lot of imagery in this fic too because I LOVE imagery with my whole being, and this is all just very sappy and romantic! Because who doesn't appreciate a story about true love? My cheesy ass sure does.   
> Hope you enjoy!

It’s the middle of fall, the exact time of year when the leaves make a warm rainbow, but haven’t completely fallen to the ground yet. The temperature hovers at the ideal range to wear jeans or a scarf, but also still get away with a short sleeved shirt.

 

A young couple, in their early 20s, strolls down the path of a light forest, talking and laughing, stealing kisses now and again, enjoying each other’s company as a light breeze whirls around them, kicking up leaves from the ground.

Minho shivers, “it’s getting chilly.”

“Should’ve brought a sweater silly. You can have mine,” Chan replies, tugging his bright orange hoodie over his head and handing it to his boyfriend.

“Thanks hyung,” Minho says, cheeks flushing from the cold air as well as his own bashfulness. He pulls it on, the lingering warmth from Chan’s body immediately chasing away the goosebumps on is arms.

The sunlight dances through the leaves, creating a subtle light show across Minho’s face, and Chan can’t seem to help but stare. Minho notices, and lets out a giggle, a sweet melody that rings out into the air like windchimes.

“Baby, how do I look?” the angel in question asks.

Chan smiles, “you look stunning, Love.”

Minho reaches over to tug Chan’s hand towards him, weaving their fingers together while pulling it into the hoodie’s front pocket. Chan squeezes his hand and Minho squeezes back as they look at each other with a sweet fondness in their eyes.

Anyone could take one glance at the young couple and see a romantic aura around them, see how important they already are to each other- smitten.

  
  
  


10 years have passed. Minho and Chan are now in their 30s, have completed all forms of education, fully immersed in the adult word. One thing remains unchanged, and that is the love that they share; over a decade of dating and nothing feels repetitive or stale.

Chan is a well known music producer, with numerous popular songs under his name. Minho owns his own dance studio, and does choreography for idol companies every now and again.

They live together, and if anyone asks them what their favorite thing in life is, Minho will always answer “dancing to a song that Channie wrote” and Chan always says “waking up every morning and seeing Minho’s face next to me”.

 

They’re strolling through the woods, it’s become a tradition for them. It’s late September, the leaves are starting to change, an ombre of yellow and orange peeking out from the bright green. It’s later in the evening, and the sky is a bright crimson from the sun sitting on the horizon light a dying candle.

Minho shivers as a gust of wind tickles against his skin. 

“Channie~ let me steal your hoodie, it’s cold,” he says, scooting closer to his boyfriend to try and stay warm.

Chan rolls his eyes playfully, “ what about me? What if I get cold, hm?”

“Well then I’ll just have to stay close and hold your hand then. Problem solved.”

A small staredown ensues, Minho batting his eyelashes to try and get an advantage. It works.

Chan lets out a dramatic sigh and reluctantly pulls off his cherry red pullover, clutching the pocket tightly as he hands it to his partner.

Minho tugs it on eagerly, hunching his neck to bury his face into the collar.

“I love wearing your hoodies, they always smell like you,” Minho says with a small smile, “Baby, how do I look?”

“Gorgeous as always, Love,” Chan replies.

Minho laughs and leans forward to give Chan a sweet kiss, lightly grabbing Chan’s hands and pulling them towards him, down into the pocket at the front of the garment. He lets out a noise of surprise when his fingers brush against a small velvet box.

“What-what is this?” Minho asks, grabbing the box and pulling it out of the pocket.

Chan scuffs his feet against the ground, suddenly shy for the first time in over ten years.

“Well, I was going to wait until we got home, but I guess now is as good a time as ever,” he says, taking the box and opening it to reveal  silver ring as he gets down on one knee, “Lee Minho...will you-”

“Yes. Oh my god. Yes. Absolutely. Oh my god  _ yes _ , what the  _ fuck- _ ”

They’re laughing, and kissing, and crying, and kissing some more.

Any person passing by would be overpowered by such a strong feeling of happiness coming from the newly engaged duo- enamoured.

  
  
  


20 years have passed. 2 years of engagement, 18 years of marriage. The Bang-Lee couple are in their 50s, and share their lives together in a small house with 3 cats. Chan has won numerous music awards and has been nominated for numerous more- he even has 2 Grammys. Minho’s dance studio is widely popular- however he no longer teaches or dances himself as a result of a recurring knee injury. Chan doesn’t have to use dyes to make his hair silver anymore, stress from music deadlines turning his dark locks into the color of pepper. Minho’s hair is still dark, but a few gray hairs are making their appearance.

They still make time for their traditional walk through the woods, as they are doing now- their pace a bit slower to not aggravate Minho’s healing joints.

The mood is a bit more melancholy, as Minho’s retirement was very recent, still a fresh wound in his heart. The old dancer tries not to let it show, bur Chan can still see the regret and sadness in his husband’s eyes, even when hidden by that beautiful smile.

It’s early November, and the sky is a bleak gray, cloudy with the potential for rain. The temperature on the colder side, and Minho shivers- he’s forgotten his sweater again.

“Channie,” he says, looking over at his husband with expectant eyes, “would you lend your hoodie to this old man?”

“Aish you’re 51 that’s hardly old,” Chan replies, “but, yeah, of course you can wear it.”

He unzips the soft gray garment, tugging his arms out of the sleeves and handing it to Minho, who immediately pulls it onto his own frame.

“Ah, so cozy~ Darling, how do I look?” Minho says, making a subtle pose by holding his arms out.

Chan chuckles, “handsome as always, Love.” 

It’s Chan who links their hands together this time, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of Minho’s palm. They resume walking, falling into a comfortable silence; the only sound around them being the rustling of the fallen leaves being scattered about by the light gusts of wind.

After several minutes minutes Chan looks over and sees Minho’s eyes shining, tears on the edge of spilling down his face. HIs husband is blinking rather rapidly, trying to keep composure, and Chan’s heart aches for him.

“Minho, hey, it’s okay,” he says, pulling the other towards him into a warm hug. Minho’s shoulders  start shaking, and quiet sobs and sniffles can be heard. 

They slowly rock back and forth, Minho crying into Chan’s shoulder and Chan murmuring words of comfort.

“I’m sorry, I’m being silly,” Minho says as he pulls away, trying to wipe at his eyes but new tears drip down the moment he brushes the old ones away.

“No, no you’re not,” Chan tells him, “you’ve been so strong through all of this, it’s alright to let it all out now.”

“I just- I just miss it so much already. Dancing was  _ everything _ , and now I have to give it up. I don’t- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself now.”

“I know, Min, I know how much it means to you. But you can get through this.  _ We _ can get through this, I won’t let you shoulder this burden by yourself.”

Minho starts crying even harder, ducking his head back against Chan’s shoulder. Chan’s own eyes start to water too, seeing the love of his life so distraught caused his own emotions to overflow.

Ten minutes, fifteen minutes pass, and Minho calms down, pulling away once again. Chan reaches up and brushes away the tear streaks from his face. He leans up tp give Minho a tender kiss on the forehead, following it with a kiss next to each of his eyes- where the tears had been moments before. Minho presses their foreheads together and finally smiles again.

“I love you Chan,” he says softly, voice barely a whisper that is almost whisked away by the wind.

“I love you too. Always will. You will always have me, Minho.”

There’s a warm feeling surrounding the two, a sense of promise that everything is still okay as long as they have each other- comfort.

  
  
  


30 years pass. Chan and Minho are in their 80s, Minho now uses a cane to walk and Chan has a hearing aid in his left ear. They never had any children, but both of them have always been fine with that. They still live in the sme little house that they bought after marriage, nearly 50 years ago. Their hair is all completely light silver, and Chan’s scalp is starting to go bald. 

The Bang-Lee couple has spent over half a century together, and their love has truly stood the test of time. All of their friends will say that they have never seen a relationship quite as strong as Chan and Minho’s.

Every wrinkle on their skin, ever line of their face, is a year that they have lived, loved, struggled, and celebrated together.

They’re both long retired now, not nearly as active as they used to be, and spend all their time just enjoying each other’s company. Minho loves when Chan sits at the baby grand in their living room, playing tune after tune from memory-each song one of his own creation. Chan loves when Minho reads aloud from one of the numerous novels from their bookshelf- says that even when his husband is just speaking it’s the loveliest music he’s ever heard.

Their bones creak and their joints ache and their energy isn’t the same as it was decades ago, but Chan and Minho still take the time to enjoy a walk through the woods together.

 

It’s mid October- over a week since Chan’s birthday and about a week left until Minho’s. The trees are a fiery gradient of reds to oranges to yellows. 

There are still birds chirps, their melodies mixing with the rustle of leaves to create a soft and natural kind of white noise that is cut into every few seconds by the ‘clack!’ of Minho’s cane against the ground.

“You need to get a new rubber bit for the bottom of that walking stick,” Chan complains.

“Aish, you can’t even hear it!” Minho quips back, “your good ear is on the other side.”

Chan lightly swats at his husband, who snickers, knowing he’s won this argument.

The weather on this day is absolutely gorgeous, with a clear sky and a brightly shining un. But still a but chilly, from the brisk autumn wind gusting through the air.

Chan sees Minho shiver, but knows that nowadays he’ll be too stubborn to admit if he’s cold. Chan takes off his light  blue cardigan and drapes it over his husband’s shoulders, and Minho looks over at him in surprise.

“How could you tell?” he asks, pulling his arms through the sleeves and pulling it snugly around his neck.

“We’ve been married for 48 years, you think I can’t see when my own husband is cold?” Chan replies.

Minho gives Chan a knowing smile, and shifts his shoulder to make a model-like pose.

“How do I look?”

Chane lets out a chuckle, and reaches forward to grab Minho’s hand, bringing it upward and placing a tender kiss on the knuckles.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, my love,” he says. 

Minho laughs, a sound that rings through the air like bells, “you big old sap, never gonna stop showering me in compliments are you?”

Chan smiles, “even when I’m dead, you’ll still hear them from my ghost. Besides, you’re the one who still insists on saying ‘I love you’ every night with a kiss.”

“If I die in my sleep, I don’t want my last words to you to be something stupid.”

They continue to bicker, shifting from who’s sappier to who forgot to go to the store, to whose turn it was to cook dinner that evening; but still hold hands the entire time, finger woven between each other as they walk along the path with the birds chirping and the leaves rustling and the ‘clack!’ of Minho’s cane.

Walking slowly, like one unit, after years and years and years of breathing the same air, seeing the same sights, sharing the same lifetime- soulmates.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'al know the drill~ there's no way this sucked so just leave a comment ;-*


End file.
